The Sworn (57 page)

Berry’s gaze strayed past Jencin, to a scorched mark on the cobblestones of the bailey courtyard where Staden’s pyre would have been. “Me, too, Jencin. Me, too.” She collected herself, and her features slipped into regal neutrality. Jonmarc began to wonder if it was something royals practiced from birth. “You remember Jonmarc Vahanian, my Champion, and Captain Gellyr?”

Jencin smiled. “Of course. I’m glad your ride was a safe one.”

Jonmarc nodded. “So far.” Jencin looked at him as if he suspected there was a story behind the comment, but he said nothing as Berry continued with the introductions.

“Kolin and Laisren are emissaries of the Blood Council,” Berry said with a nod. Both men inclined their heads in greeting. “And Anton and Serg represent the
vyrkin
packs. Aidane is the liaison for the dead,” Berry said with a totally straight face. Aidane swallowed wrong and began to cough; Jonmarc suspected she was utterly unprepared to be introduced as a visiting diplomat.

“M’lady, do you think it wise—”

“I do, or I wouldn’t have brought them.” Berry’s voice was sharp. She might have left Principality City as a girl, but she was returning as a queen, and as fond as Jonmarc knew she was of Jencin, old roles had to change. “I am queen of Principality, the living, dead, and undead. These are difficult times. If we expect the allegiance of all our subjects, then we must recognize and reward their fealty.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Jencin led them into the palace. The servants they passed made low bows, welcoming Berry. Jonmarc watched as she swept by them, acknowledging them and thanking them. He wondered how many of them could
see the strain in her face, the effort it was taking for Berry to return home, knowing that Staden was gone forever.

Jonmarc had a chance to brief Berry before they arrived on the plan he and Gellyr had concocted, and she agreed with him. Best not to start off her reign by forcing the military into something, even if she turned out to be right. They’d see if Gellyr’s uncle would act as a go-between with Hant. If not, Berry would take the issue to Hant herself. “The festival was well attended when we rode through,” Berry commented.

“Yes, m’lady. We didn’t think it wise to cancel festivities, even with your father’s passing. Such energy needs a release.” Jencin looked nervous, and Jonmarc wondered if the seneschal was fully prepared for Berry’s sudden return.

Berry gave a sad smile. “Father would never have stood for the festival being changed. It was one of his favorites. Better to remember how well he loved a feast.”

“That he did, m’lady, better than anyone.”

“Still,” Berry said, pausing as if the idea was only just occurring to her, “it might do to have more guards about, to keep the peace.”

“M’lady?”

“I’m not yet formally crowned. As the
vyrkin
say, the most dangerous time is between what was and what will be. It might tempt some revelers to get out of hand, knowing that Father is gone.”

Jencin gave her a look that said he suspected there was more to it, but he did not question. “A wise observation, m’lady. I’ll notify the guards and ask for additional men. I’ll request that they remain vigilant but not heavy-handed.”

Berry nodded. “Thank you.”

They had moved out of the public areas of the palace and into the private rooms. As they walked, Jencin assigned the visitors to their rooms, with Aidane’s quarters on one side of Berry’s rooms and Jonmarc’s on the other. “As for the
vayash moru
, I can open the crypts in the cellars. You won’t be disturbed.” Jencin glanced from Kolin to Laisren. “And for meals, am I correct that deer or goat blood is acceptable?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jencin looked relieved, and Jonmarc suppressed a smile. “The
vyrkin
will be quite happy with meat, so the deer and goat will be appreciated,” Jonmarc said, with a nod in the direction of Anton and Serg. “Tell the kitchen not to bother cooking it.”

Jencin glanced at the
vyrkin
. His hand fluttered a bit at his side, but he controlled his nervousness. “Absolutely. I’ll see to it right away.”

“Jencin, what are the coronation plans?” It was Berry who spoke, and Jonmarc could see in her eyes the strain of maintaining her composure.

Jencin’s voice softened as he turned to her. “We’re all agreed that soonest is best. Your father left some unfinished business that can’t wait. Now that you’re here, I’ll convene the nobles at the tenth bells. You’ll find the robes of office in your room. I’ve taken the liberty of choosing a coronation gown. I hope it’s to your liking.”

Berry nodded, as if the selection of a dress was the furthest thing from her mind. “We’ll have the ceremony here at the palace,” Jencin continued, “to make it official with the nobles and the heads of the merchant guilds. Then tomorrow night, the custom is for the new monarch to
journey to the Lover’s Temple to receive the crown from the Sacred Vessels and perhaps receive a blessing from the Lady. In this case, falling on the Feast of the Departed, we’ll go to the dais in the city for you to make your offering and hear the prophecy.”

Having the Black Robes disrupt the festival is bad enough. Having them endanger the new queen makes this a whole new game.
Jonmarc looked at Gellyr, and from the look on the captain’s face, Jonmarc guessed Gellyr was thinking the same thing.

“Is it really necessary? I mean, the part about going out to the dais in the middle of the festival?” Berry’s voice suddenly sounded fatigued, and while Jonmarc was sure that some of it was real, he was aware of just how good an actress Berry could be when necessary. He was betting she’d realized the danger as well.

“Without it, you haven’t fulfilled the requirements of coronation, Your Majesty,” Jencin said apologetically. “I can only guess how much strain you’re under, especially after your ride. But we must do everything correctly, to avoid a challenge.”

Berry nodded. “I’m just not in a festival mood this year. You understand, I’m sure.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

“With the queen’s permission,” Gellyr said, clearing his throat, “I have some duties to attend to and some things to arrange.”

“Yes, please,” Berry replied. Jonmarc knew Gellyr went to send a message to his uncle to arrange a meeting after the coronation.

“I’ve had servants draw baths for you, to refresh you after your ride,” Jencin said with a glance to Jonmarc
and the others. “You’ll also find food and drink in your rooms.” He looked to Jonmarc. “As Queen’s Champion, you’ll have a role in the ceremony. I remember that you had a fondness for wearing your sword even in the presence of the king,” he said with the barest trace of a smile. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Good, because I’m wearing it anyhow.”

The candlemarks passed quickly, and tenth bells found a group of twenty people convened for the coronation. Some of the nobles looked vaguely familiar from his stay in the Principality court, but Jonmarc could not put names with the faces. He fervently hoped that the nobles would defer to Berry and that he would have no reason to get to know any of the nobility better. In his experience, the only reason for one of the Council of Nobles to come to his attention would be if they caused a problem. They had enough problems with the Black Robes.

Jencin led the procession into the room. All the waiting guests stood. Berry followed Jencin, looking regal in her elegant gown of Mussa silk. Her elaborate royal robes were covered with Noorish embroidery that seemed to move and shift. Berry wore the gold circlet that she had received in Dark Haven. Jonmarc followed in the procession, wearing all black, as he preferred when forced to be at court. Gellyr and three other guards followed, and while they were in their dress uniforms, Jonmarc noticed that they were all well armed. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, making him feel ever-so-slightly more at ease. The doors shut behind them.

Berry had given Jonmarc some insight into the audience. Eight of the guests were seated in the front row. Jonmarc was sure that meant they were the Council of
Nobles. Aside from the fact that each one was dressed in enough lace, velvet, and brocade to cost a master craftsman a full year’s wage, Jonmarc saw nothing remarkable or memorable. They were unarmed, and they looked slightly bored. Behind them were five more finely dressed men and women, Staden’s favorites among the lesser nobility, lords and ladies whose loyalty and allegiance were as certain as their friendship with the late king. These guests appeared to be more interested in the proceedings, although once again, aside from their obvious affluence, nothing marked them as a threat or worthy of notice in Jonmarc’s mind.

Six prosperous-looking merchants sat behind them, and Jonmarc noticed with a smile that one of the merchants was quite probably the head of the Whores Guild. She was a blonde woman with a figure to rival Jolie’s and, like Jolie, was in her middle years, although a casual glance might have said otherwise. Her dress was expensive and revealing, and her jewelry attested to a wealthy clientele. Beside her sat a man with a scarred face who was dressed in leather armor but lacking his weapons; obviously, the Master of the Mercenary Guild. The portly man next to him wore rings set with large gemstones, stones that also glittered from a pendant at his chest. Gem mining was the main industry in Principality, and the reason it had been carved out as its own territory centuries ago by agreement of the other six kingdoms, to stop the endless battling over its precious resources. The Gem Master looked wary and uncomfortable.

The head of the Brewers Guild was a thin man who looked more like an exchequer than an ale master. To his right was the Merchant Guild master, a man Jonmarc
knew was in the pay of Maynard Linton. It didn’t guarantee his friendship, but it would keep him from siding against them in a dispute. The head of the Smiths Guild was a strongly built man. Although Jonmarc did not doubt that he had cleaned up before the event, telltale soot still lingered beneath his nails.

To Jonmarc’s surprise, Sister Landis, head of the Citadel of the Sisterhood in Principality City, sat apart from the others. He’d glimpsed her at court, and Carina and Tris had told him quite a bit about her after Tris had trained for months at the Citadel. Taru had added her own comments. Jonmarc remembered that Landis had been cool to the idea of training Tris even though the crown of Margolan was at stake. Landis was in her seventh decade, with short gray hair and a determined expression.
Would the witch biddies really stand by and let the Black Robes bring about a War of Unmaking?
He met Landis’s cool blue eyes, and decided that he didn’t want to bet money on the answer.

Kolin and Laisren sat behind the guild masters, along with Anton and Serg. They were dressed in somber finery and looked to be the noble equals of the Council. Aidane sat beside Kolin. To Jonmarc’s surprise, Jolie had acquired a traditional
serroquette
’s gown for Aidane. Dressed in the colors of flame, Aidane’s dark complexion was set off to its exotic best. Her black hair was loose, with golden combs. A river of fine gold strands seemed to nearly fill the deep-cut bodice of the gown, and gold bracelets on each arm attested to a position of status and wealth.
Jolie never misses a trick, does she?
Jonmarc thought and smiled to himself. The head of the Whores Guild had definitely noticed Aidane, and the look was
both intrigued and hostile.
I’m going to guess there aren’t a lot of
serroquettes
in Principality City. She’s probably worried Aidane will be a competitor.

Jencin cleared his throat. “We’re gathered here to crown Berwyn, daughter of Staden, as the new Queen of Principality,” Jencin said in his most formal manner. He made a gesture that indicated that the guests should take their seats. “Since she has already received a field coronation upon the news of the king’s death, she wears the circlet. Today, she receives Staden’s crown, forged for King Vanderon, father of Aesille, father of the late king.”

Jencin removed a velvet cloth that covered a carved wooden box that stood on a pedestal in the center of the room. Next to the pedestal was a cushioned kneeling rail. The cushion was a deep red velvet, and the crest of the House of Principality was worked into the finely wrought support for the gold railing.

“If you please, Your Majesty,” Jencin said, with a fluid gesture motioning for Berry to kneel.

Berry took a deep breath and made the sign of the Lady, and then knelt. She removed the circlet and gave it to Jencin, who put it into the box.

“With this crown, I accept the throne of Principality. I will be the guardian of all its residents, living, dead, and undead. I will keep the covenants my fathers have made with the guilds, especially the Mercenary Guild, that protect our lands. I will honor the treaties with our allies, and so far as it is in my power, I will strive to live at peace with those countries with whom we are not allied.” Berry’s voice was clear and strong as she recited the vows, but Jonmarc could see tears glistening, unshed, in her eyes. “I will preserve the sovereignty of Principality and defend it
with my life. Before the Sacred Lady in all her Aspects, I make these vows.”

Berry accepted the ornate crown from Jencin and turned it, feeling for a hidden clasp. A small, sharp point sprang from behind a gemstone, and Berry took another deep breath and then pressed the palm of her right hand against the point. She winced, and when she withdrew her hand, a few drops of blood ran down her palm. Berry turned the crown so that the large gemstone on the front faced her, and she covered the stone with her bloody palm. The crown seemed to glow in her hands, and the elaborate symbols on her cloak swirled, making it clear that their movement was not a trick of the imagination.